Young Lamont paused, for his father was gasping like a man fighting for his breath.
“Go on. Tell me all. What did this woman call herself?” he cried.
“Mother Flintstone,” coolly said the son. “She lived in Hell’s Kitchen, and after being threatened a number of times—in spite of the protection of Carter’s assistants—she was murdered a few nights ago.”
“Yes, yes. I saw something of that in the newspapers.”
“Well, from what I have heard Richmond say in a dark way when in his cups he can prove that Mother Flintstone, the old fence, was your sister.”
“Great heavens!” cried Perry Lamont. “Has he got the documents left by this woman?”
“I fear he has.”
“But he didn’t offer them to me.”
“I can’t say as to that.”
“He only offered to keep the knowledge of your doings from the world for ten thousand dollars.”